This was true. Amidst a hush of eager expectation, the Governor rose and read aloud the address of the Czar “to our ancient city and metropolis of Moscow.” It contained the same explanations and appeals which at that moment in another place were falling from his own lips; and concluded with an earnest exhortation to prepare for “that defence which must now shield the babe at the mother’s breast, and guard from sacrilege the tombs of our fathers. The very existence of our name in the map of nations is menaced. The enemy denounces ‘Destruction to Russia.’ The security of our holy Church, the safety of the throne of the Czars, the independence of our ancient Muscovite Empire, all call aloud that the object of this appeal may be received by our loyal subjects as a sacred decree. May the filial ardour spread itself from Moscow to the extremities of our dominions; and a force will then assemble around the monarch that may defy the thousand legions of our treacherous invader. The ills which he has prepared for us will then fall upon his own head, and Europe, delivered from slavery, may then celebrate the name of--” “Alexander!” The words sprang from the lips of Feodor Petrovitch, the youngest there, who spoke aloud the thought that thrilled in every heart, and knew not that he spoke until he caught the reproving looks of some of those around him. In the meantime Count Rostopchine calmly completed the sentence as it had been written--“Europe, delivered from slavery, may then celebrate the name of RUSSIA.” Scarcely had he concluded, when the Czar himself stood amongst them, and with a few eloquent words wound up to its highest pitch the enthusiasm of the audience. Amidst the tears and acclamations which followed, the venerable chief of the merchants[20] stood up in his place and subscribed his name for the gift of fifty thousand roubles--two-thirds of his fortune. Others gave in similar proportion; and Petrovitch was surpassed by none in self-sacrificing liberality. Feodor, under his directions, wrote his name upon the list of subscribers. When he had done so, he turned to his grandfather--“Dädushka, I think you must give the Czar something more even yet.” “Even sons and grandsons?” said the old man, with a smile that had in it a little sadness and a great deal of resignation; “well, I shall not refuse.” “_Even me?_” said Feodor, nestling close to him and putting his arm caressingly about his neck. But Petrovitch did not answer. “The people were willing,” even beyond their power, so that three days afterwards the Czar published a ukase, not to ask for gifts, but to limit their amount. “The nobles literally gave him Russia,” wrote the Sardinian ambassador to his sovereign. “They melted into tears; in short, sire, there never was anything like it. The merchants have given him ten million roubles, and lent him fifty or sixty million.”